


Babies

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3297803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo looks for his uncle Bilbo and finds just about every other uncle instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Babies

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fic for anon’s “Bilbo stayed with the dwarves, and the Company is basically a big weird family that loves each other and stays together and everyone is alive. At some point, Frodo comes to live with Bilbo in the Mountain. Now not only does he have Uncle Bilbo, but he has 13 MORE uncles, and some new aunts, and all their kids! And each uncle is very different, but they all love and watch out for him. And it's basically the cutest” prompt on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=24562293#t24562293).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s hard to find good pets in Erebor, especially ones small enough for a hobbit—the pigs and chickens of Dale always run away from the darkness of the mountains, bugs blend in too well with the shadows, and fish don’t do Frodo much good: they’re slimy and you can’t hold onto them. So when his uncle Bifur comes and drops a lizard into his open hands, Frodo’s _ecstatic_. He watches its tiny little feet pad along his skin, its wide, black eyes staring up at him, its tail slithering ever so slowly across his fingers. It’s cute and small and _perfect_ , and Frodo sets it down on the ground so he can wrap his arms around Bifur in a tight hug. 

Bifur grunts and pats his shoulder, then ambles off as he so often does, leaving Frodo to retrieve the little lizard. He isn’t sure what kind it is, but he’ll learn—surely, between his fourteen uncles, _one_ of them will know about reptiles. Bilbo will at least have books, and if not, maybe he can ask for one on his birthday. Then he can figure out how best to take care of it, assuming, of course, he can keep it.

The little red creature curls calmly up in his palm and doesn’t seem to mind staying with Frodo, so Frodo strokes its ridged back with his finger and chirps brightly, “I’m going to take good care of you, Master Lizard!” He’ll have to think of a name, though. Or perhaps he can talk Uncle Bilbo into taking him back to see the skinchanger they speak of now and again, who apparently can talk to animals and might be able to ask the lizard itself for its name.

For now, Frodo rushes off down the hall, looking for Bilbo first. Of all Frodo’s many loving uncles, Bilbo is the one whom he’s closest to; he lives with Bilbo, and he’s always thought of Bilbo like his father. Surely, if he promises to take good care of it and he asks very nicely, he’ll be allowed to keep his new friend. 

He doesn’t know where Bilbo is, however, and the towering halls of Erebor are vast and many, especially for a young hobbit with short legs. Frodo goes careening down the corridors, hoping that anyone he runs into will know where to find Bilbo. The first corner he rounds, he does it so fast that he doesn’t hear what’s coming, and he runs right into Bombur’s big belly. Frodo bounces right off him, falling to the stone ground, while Bombur stops in his tracks and the lizard goes shooting up Frodo’s arm. It clings to Frodo’s shoulder while Frodo rubs the back of his head, moaning, “Oww!”

“Frodo!” Bombur exclaims, bending down in a heartbeat to help Frodo up. His big hands scoop under Frodo’s armpits and lift him right back to his feet, though he stumbles once. “I’m sorry, little fellow. I didn’t see you there.”

“That’s okay,” Frodo mumbles, still running through his curly hair to see if there are any bumps. “I’m sorry I ran into you. I was looking for Uncle Bilbo. Have you seen him?” Fortunately, there don’t seem to be any lumps on Frodo’s skull, so he can divert his attention to the lizard instead, making sure the little creature’s alright. It’s clinging very tightly to his shirt, but otherwise looks unharmed. 

Bombur straightens out, rubbing at his chin. He notices the lizard and grins at it, but only says, “I believe I saw him around the throne room, earlier. Have you checked there?”

“No,” Frodo answers, and then, “Thank you.”

“No trouble.” Bombur reaches down to ruffle his thick fingers through Frodo’s hair, announcing, “Good luck, little halfling!” Frodo grins back as Bombur walks around him, off to whatever errand he was on. 

And Frodo turns left instead of right, now headed for the throne room. After the first few steps, the lizard slowly climbs down Frodo’s chest, slipping right into his breast pocket. Frodo tries to watch both where he’s going and what’s going on his pocket, but it’s difficult to see, so he has to crook a finger in and pull the pocket open to watch the little creature nestle inside. It curls up in a content little ball, maybe going to sleep. Just in case, Frodo whispers, “Good night.”

A moment later, he passes and ajar doorway and can hear fervent bickering from within. He can pick out his cousin Gimli’s voice insisting, “Dad, if you just met Sigrid—”

“You aren’t thinking,” Uncle Glóin replies hotly. “Do you have any idea how long humans live? She might look about your age now, but in a few years she’ll be a little old lady!”

“Then I will still love that old lady!” Gimli shouts back, and by now Frodo’s paused. He never likes to hear his family argue, though Bilbo’s told him time and again that dwarves are naturally more inclined to brawls than hobbits. 

Still, Frodo steps through the door, and Glóin immediately cuts off whatever he was about to say, turning to smile and greet, “Good evening, Frodo.”

“Good evening, Uncle Glóin,” Frodo answers, then turns to Gimli to repeat, “Good evening, Gimli.”

Gimli grumbles, “Good evening,” but it doesn’t look like he thinks it so. He’s got his long beard in his hands, tugging it in irritation and looking thoroughly put out. Frodo, on his own quest for parental approval, can’t help but sympathize.

He offers, “I’m sorry for overhearing, but Uncle Bilbo says the age difference between humans and dwarves is nothing compared to dwarves and elves, so there is that.”

“There is certainly that!” Gimli’s expression lights up again, and he tells his father, “If you want to hound someone about unrealistic love, you should scold Kíli!”

“Kíli isn’t my son.”

Gimli opens his mouth, probably to protest, but then someone brushes past Frodo, and he looks up to see Óin joining them, fishing his trumpet out of his pocket. He asks, “What’s all this babble, then?”

Before the other two can say anything, Frodo quickly interjects, “I’m looking for Uncle Bilbo.”

Óin looks thoughtful, and Frodo can’t tell if he misheard or simply hasn’t seen Bilbo today, but Gimli just shrugs his shoulders and Glóin suggests, “Have you tried the throne room?”

“I’ll go check,” Frodo decides, because that was his best bet, anyway. As he slips around Óin, Glóin and Gimli launch back into their discussion, sucking him into the argument. Frodo can only hope that if he ever falls in love, it’ll be with another hobbit or a dwarf, so he doesn’t have to go through all the complicated interspecies things others in his family do. But then, Frodo imagines that if he ever falls in love, he’ll be _in love_ , so if the fairy tales Bilbo reads him are true, nothing else will matter. 

Frodo’s barely a step out of the room when he finds Dwalin, who stops immediately to give him a fond look. “Hello, Master Hobbit.”

“Hello, Uncle Dwalin,” Frodo says, before holding up his arms to ask, “Are you going to the throne room? Can I have a ride?” Because Dwalin is one of the two best dwarves to get piggy backs from, the other being Dori. They’re both incredibly strong and sure-footed, and very tall. The world looks so different from up on a dwarf’s shoulders. 

But today, Dwalin says, “I’m sorry, little one. It’ll have to be another day. I’m late for watch duty in the opposite direction.”

Frodo wrinkles his nose in an automatic pout, even though he knows that Dwalin has to go. It seems silly to have a guard at Erebor, the greatest city in the world, but he knows that Dwalin _likes_ to be a part of the guard, so he just mumbles, “Okay.” Dwalin pats his shoulder, making his whole body tremble, then heads off down the corridor. Frodo checks with the lizard before he wanders off the other way. Despite Dwalin’s firm pat, the lizard looks perfectly content. 

He’s almost at the throne room when he runs into Balin, who’s probably heading from there himself. He smiles instantly, and Frodo smiles back: Balin’s grins are his favourite. He loves all his uncles, and they all love him in their different ways, but Balin is the one that probably looked after him the most when he was a baby, excluding, of course, Bilbo. Frodo can still remember tugging Balin’s fluffy beard and poking Balin’s big nose from his crib. As Balin inclines his head and says, “Frodo,” Frodo’s already reaching into his pocket. Balin doesn’t have the authority to let Frodo keep the lizard if Bilbo says no, but he can at least share in Frodo’s joy. 

“What’ve you got there in your hands, hm?”

“A lizard!” Frodo’s very gentle as he extends it to show Balin, because the lizard seems to still be sleeping, despite the argument it weathered and Frodo’s nearly-skipping steps. “I’m going to ask Uncle Bilbo if I can keep it.”

“Oh?” Balin bends down to squint at the lizard, then straightens up again to tell Frodo, “It’s very cute. What are you going to name it?”

Frodo frowns. He thinks for a moment and decides a name would be good; it’ll be easier to convince Bilbo that he should keep it if he’s already attached. So he pulls the little lizard up to his face, peering again at the smooth shape of its snout, the red-yellow colouring, and the little ridges it has. With its muzzled nestled against Frodo’s thumb, its fingers seem to twist into the contours of his palm, something like tiny, blunt claws. 

It is cute, he thinks, but it’s also beautiful. A proud, extraordinary creature, not like the usual animals Frodo finds hidden in the nooks and crannies of the mountain. Finally, it hits him, the perfect name, and he looks up at Balin with a wide smile to announce, “Smaug!”

“Smaug?” Balin repeats, looking stunned at first. Then he laughs, warm and affectionate, and he reaches out to pat Frodo’s shoulder, announcing, “That is a very good name, Frodo. Befitting for a hobbit of Erebor.”

Frodo nods and pictures his small lizard lounging on a pile of gold coins, breathing fearsome fog instead of fire, like a miniature, harmless version of the amazing stories Bilbo’s told him. He would’ve liked to see a dragon, but of course, real ones are too hard to come by and far too dangerous to be around. He says, “Thanks, Uncle Balin,” and excuses himself, more excited than ever to try and keep his new prize. 

Balin calls after him, “Good luck, Frodo!”

The throne room of Erebor is one of the largest halls of all, with the ceiling so high up that it’s completely cast in shadow. Every so often, Frodo’s bare feet still land on a stray coin that has yet to be cleaned away, but these he always turns in to one of his uncles. Today, he catches on nothing, just smooth pavement underfoot as he runs to the towering steps that lead to the grand throne. He often wonders if someday, he’ll be able to scale the steps two at a time like some of the dwarves do, but for now, he has to clamber over every one. He can see Thorn, Fíli, and Kíli at the top, and he can hear them talking, but it’s nothing interesting, so he doesn’t pay much attention until he’s made it to the dais. Bilbo isn’t there, but they might know where he is. 

As soon as he’s reached the top, Thorin lifts a hand to silence Fíli and Kíli, then reaches out his arms, calling invitingly, “Frodo!”

Frodo places Smaug back in his pocket so he can climb up into Thorin’s lap, helped by Thorin’s strong arms. Kíli mutters something about the size of his quarters, Fíli grumbles back, “Mine are exactly the same, Kíli,” and Thorin ignores them both, looking down at Frodo like he’s relieved for the distraction.

He asks, “How is my favourite nephew?”

Fíli and Kíli both shout, “Hey!” while Frodo giggles. He knows, of course, that King Thorin loves them all, but he won’t complain about being called the favourite. Frodo reaches into his pocket again, but by now Smaug’s woken up and crawls back out along his hand. Its tail wraps around his wrist when he holds it out to show Thorin.

“This is Smaug,” he announces, noticing the looks Fíli and Kíli give each other over his shoulders. Then, because Thorin _is_ a king, and surely his authority counts for something, Frodo asks hopefully, “Can I keep it?”

Predictably, Thorin says, “You’ll have to ask Bilbo.” He’s grinning, though, and he reaches down to poke at the little lizard, who goes scurrying back to Frodo’s elbow. “Smaug, hm? You’ll have to keep an eye on this one, just in case it lives up to its namesake.”

Frodo nods solemnly. “I promise not to let Smaug steal any of your treasure.” Thorin laughs. Then, even more serious, Frodo sighs, “And I want to keep it, but I can’t find Bilbo anywhere!” Of course, he hasn’t actually checked _everywhere_ , but Erebor is a very big place to search for one little hobbit.

Kíli says helpfully, “I think I saw him headed for the gate earlier.”

But that only makes Frodo whine, “Aw! That was the way Dwalin was headed; I could’ve got a ride with him!”

“I can give you a ride,” Fíli offers, which makes Frodo brighten instantly. He doesn’t mind walking, but he’s been walking _all day_ , and the gate’s a ways off.

“Hold on a minute,” Thorin interjects. He looks down at Frodo to double check, “You don’t want to stay and rule the kingdom with me?”

Giggling, Frodo says, “Maybe tomorrow.” And he puts Smaug on his shoulder so he can give Thorin a big hug. Thorin gives the _best_ hugs. He’s heard stories that Thorin can be quite scary, imposing, and a great warrior, but with Frodo he’s always strong, stable, and kind, and he’s also big and warm, like a cuddly bear. He pecks Frodo on the forehead, and then Frodo pulls back and reaches out for Fíli. 

Fíli scoops him up, holding right under his legs so that he’s lifted into the air, almost at Fíli’s shoulder. The world is suddenly very tall again. Before they leave, Fíli sticks his tongue out at Kíli, who stays behind, probably to argue his case. Frodo enjoys being carried back down the steps, even though there is something to be said for sitting in a throne and ruling with his uncle Thorin. 

They get all the way down the steps and into the first corridor before they’re stopped. Frodo’s just about to ask if Fíli can braid his hair soon, because his is getting longer and Fíli has such nice braids. But they run into Ori halfway down the hall, who smiles at Frodo but tells Fíli, “You forgot that we were going to go to the library again.”

“Oh!” Fíli starts, then makes half a sound and cuts off, probably censoring a swear, as they all do around Frodo. “Ori, I’m sorry. Kíli got into this whole thing about my room being bigger than his again, which it certainly isn’t—”

“You could’ve sent someone to tell me,” Ori mumbles, his nose wrinkling, but he looks more hurt than angry. 

Before Fíli responds, Frodo tugs lightly at his beard, earning him attention again, and he says, “You can put me down; I can walk.”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to trouble you, Frodo,” Ori says quickly. “It’s alright, we can do it another time.”

Fíli’s already bending to put Frodo down. Some dwarves tell him he’s getting heavier, but others always tell him halflings weigh nothing, and Frodo can’t lift much at all, so he doesn’t have a good concept of weight. No sooner has Fíli straightened out when Dori shows up from around one of the side corridors, interjecting immediately, “Did you stand Ori up again?”

“I didn’t stand him up!” Fíli says, flustered, but Dori looks like he doesn’t want to hear any excuses. 

“Dori,” Ori interjects, “It’s alright—”

“It’s not alright, this is the second time this month!”

“That’s only two times,” Fíli splutters. 

Frodo can tell he isn’t going to get anywhere here. He looks down the hall while the three of them argue, wondering vaguely if it’d be faster to walk or wait for his ride with Fíli. Then Fíli suggests, “Look, let me just take Frodo to the main gate, then I’ll go with you—”

“I’ll take Frodo, you go with Ori.”

“Dori,” Ori starts.

“Nori,” Nori says, exiting the same corridor as Dori and suddenly inserting himself into the conversation. He looks around at the other three, then down at Frodo, who reaches out his arms hopefully.

Nori, who’s definitely one of Frodo’s ‘fun’ uncles, walks over to pick him up, and Frodo laughs in delight as he’s brought right up into the air again. “Where to, little master?” Nori asks, clearly in good spirits. Frodo points down the corridor, and Nori marches right off without a word to the other three, who Frodo waves at over Nori’s shoulder. 

As soon as they’re out of sight of the others, who went back to talking amongst themselves, Nori asks, “What business have you got at the gate, hm?”

Frodo, keeping one hand on one of the three points in Nori’s hair to steady himself, uses the other to fish his lizard off his shoulder. He holds it under Nori’s nose, announcing, “I’m going to ask Bilbo if I can keep Smaug.”

“Oh! Caught yourself a little dragon, did you?” Nori teases, then muses, “You know, a baby dragon would probably be worth a fortune...”

“I don’t want to sell it,” Frodo says, immediately horrified. “I want to keep it for a pet!”

“Your loss,” Nori sighs, as though Frodo has actually turned down a sizable pile of money.

They’re nearly at the gate when they cross paths with Bofur, who’s another of Frodo’s fun uncles. He falls right into stride with them and says right away, “Look out, Master Hobbit! You’ve got a lizard on your shoulder!”

“I know,” Frodo giggles.

“He’s going to keep it for a pet,” Nori sighs forlornly, “not sell it.”

“A pity,” Bofur clucks. “It would probably be worth a fortune.”

“That’s what I said!”

As they reach a stairwell, Nori and Bofur step closer together, and Frodo’s lizard suddenly goes shooting out, scrambling onto the lone pigtail that’s brushed over Nori’s shoulder. Bofur yelps as Smaug scurries up to his head, then disappears into his hat. They keep on going down the stairs anyway, while Nori laughs, and Frodo worries about Smaug, and Bofur takes his hat off, peering inside. 

At the bottom of the steps, he holds the hat out to Frodo, who sheepishly plucks Smaug out, mumbling, “Sorry.”

“That’s alright. I should’ve known it would come at me; I’m irresistible to most sensible creatures, you see.”

Nori laughs even louder, and Frodo giggles.

One more corridor, and they’re at the front gate. Nori lets Frodo down, and Frodo chirps, “Thanks for the ride.”

“Any time,” Nori says, before he and Bofur take off around the bend, and Frodo goes out between the giant stone columns to the wide gates of Erebor. Dwarves are already lined up, strategically placed, more of a guard of honour than anything else. But Bilbo’s easy enough to spot: he’s sitting at the end of the platform, watching the evening sun. 

Frodo goes running right out and just barely manages to restrain himself from hugging Bilbo; he doesn’t want to knock them off into the stream below again. He sits down beside Bilbo instead, who looks down at him to offer a safer, sideways hug.

“What’ve you been up to?” Bilbo asks as he straightens out. “Wandered off again, I suppose?” Frodo nods, but he gathers his lizard up into his hands to show off his real prize.

“This is Smaug,” Frodo announces, placing the lizard down on Bilbo’s knee. It turns around in place, then settles down again, apparently just as comfortable with Bilbo as it is with Frodo. Frodo puts on his best begging voice when he asks, “Can I keep it?”

“Smaug?” Bilbo repeats, looking like he’s on the verge of a laugh.

“Smaug,” Frodo repeats. “Maybe someday it’ll grow into a real dragon.” Although, of course, he knows it would be impractical.

But Bilbo muses, “I suppose it would be good to have one on our side, this time. And I suppose there’s no harm in letting you keep a pet.”

Frodo’s already grinning brightly, and he hugs Bilbo again, tight but careful not to bother Smaug too much. “I’ll take really good care of it,” Frodo promises. 

Bilbo kisses his forehead and says, “Good.”

And the two of them sit to watch the sunset, while Smaug crawls lazily between them.


End file.
